Strength
by Graysonation
Summary: Family is family, through thick and thin, once and then over, again and again. Peter introduces Spencer to his niece, and the chips fall where they may.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** It has definitely, _definitely_ been awhile since I've been on here . . . Life has gotten thrice as crazy as usual . . . But in good ways, you know? I'm finally full-time at my job (which is bloody fantastic), acing two of my classes and out of the failing range with my fucking Accounting course, Halloween has passed and Chirstmas rapidly approaches . . . I would say that I'm at peace, but as my favorite T-Shirt reads, "I'm A Grayson, I Can't Keep Calm." *Snickers*

Anyhoo . . . everyone on this bloody site probably knows about my unstoppable addiction to "Heroes." And, subsequently, my excitement over the reboot of the series, _Heroes Reborn._ Now, halfway through the premier season . . . I'm not impressed. Not _unimpressed,_ of course, but the show isn't quite as snazzy as the original one, I think. (Are they ever, though?) The villains suck, and most of the powers are pretty mainstream . . . but it's still fun and interesting, and given a season or two for the plot lines to develop and the characters to marinate, I'm sure it'll be a fine TV Show. At least, I hope so.

Alas, though, my two darlings of the universe are nowhere to be seen . . . And a world without Peter and Sylar is not a world I wanna live in. So, the next installment of my _Criminal Heroes_ 'verse arrives! My inspiration came from one of the driving plot points of the _Reborn_ series; is Claire Bennett alive or dead? Still no answer in that for canon, I'm afraid . . . But even thinking about it made me miss the whiny cheerleader, and she kind of elbowed into the story, asking if she could meet Reid. Makes sense to me; with as special as Peter and Spencer are to one another, SURELY they'd have become familiar with one another's family at some point, right? Riiight?

This started as a oneshot, quickly grew into a longer plot line, so there's gonna be at least a few chapters. Nothing too dramatic, I hope; just fun-sih family bonding, with a dash of angst. (LOLz, I have no idea, if you've read this series, you know how bad I can get.) We'll just have to see . . .

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for Season 1-2 of _Heroes_. Spoilers for Season 1-3 of _Criminal Minds._ Mild language, snotty teenagers . . . fluff, eventually?

 **Disclaimer:** I would own the _shit_ out of Peter Petrelli and Spencer Reid if someone ever offered them to me . . . But that time has not yet come, alas. Same goes for the shows. *Sad face*

Read, if you'd like. Same for reviewing. Honestly, either way, I'm just happy you're here.

* * *

 **XXX Chapter One XXX**

* * *

Every Friday morning found the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, extremely busy; paperwork had to be examined and refiled, messages answered, meetings arranged, and general catch-up and busy work all collided, making it a stressful few hours as everyone struggled to finish all they had to do before calling it in for the weekend, going home to be mothers, fathers, husbands, wives . . . or even just people in general before they went back on Monday morning to once more being employees of the federal government.

It was an age-old tradition, really, having been around as long as the FBI itself, and all departments shared in it. Even the ones with private jets and overtime pay — Counter Terrorism and the Behavioral Analysis Unit amongst them.

Although he _technically_ had no one waiting for him at home, Spencer Reid too fell into the group of those that wanted to clock out on time; the hours at the BAU were long, tense, and demanding, and many times, there was nothing the genius found more soothing than laying on his threadbare couch and falling asleep to the sound of some BLAH or another.

As such, he always took care to arrive early on Friday mornings — sometimes even beating his Unit Chief to the office — and hurried to finish all of the files waiting for him on his desk. Unless his team was called in on a case, Reid generally managed to get everything finished before the clock struck five, and was able to walk out with Derek, Emily, and Penelope to start the weekend.

Now, at nine, having just sat down with his third cup of coffee, Reid was writing up a report from one of the BAU's recent cases — or at least, he was _trying_ to.

"Do you wanna just turn that on silent, man?" Derek Morgan asked as the genius's cell phone went off for the third time that day — and as, for the third time that day, Reid reached blindly into his bag and hit 'Ignore.'

"Not really," Reid answered, not looking up from his desk. "If it's my mom, I have to answer, and I need to be able to hear it. Otherwise, I just want to finish up my paperwork and go home." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, fighting off another of the headaches that had become increasingly more common since Gideon had left.

Morgan briefly shared a concerned look with Emily before she shrugged and waved him off; Reid was still upright and breathing, and there was no need to crowd him with mollycoddling.

Yet.

Derek pursed his lips, shaking his head as he walked over to his own desk and pulled a large stack of files towards himself.

For a small while, there was quiet in the office as everyone worked on reporting, filing, and drinking the god-awful sludge they called coffee from the employee lounge.

A loud, trilling noise broke the peace, and heads swiveled towards the source of the noise, perplexed and irritated by the interruption.

Reid, a blush spreading over his cheeks, blindly grabbed for his desk phone without checking the Caller ID.

"Hello?" He greeted, trying not to let his impatience show in his tone.

"Spencer!" The voice on the other end of the phone was warm, friendly — familiar. "Good — finally! I've been trying to reach you all day."

Reid straightened at his desk, shoving the file he'd been working on aside.

"Peter?"

"Who else?" his friend replied, voice garbled. Reid squinted, straining to hear.

"Listen," Peter continued, voice coming in through the slight static, " Are you busy?"

"Uh," Reid glanced around, and turned his chair towards his computer, speaking more quietly. "I'm sort of at work right now, Pete."

"Can you get away for a few minutes?"

Even knowing that he couldn't be seen, Reid frowned. _Why?"_

"Just come downstairs. I'll explain everything then."

"Peter — "

"See ya!"

The phone clicked off, and Reid was left with the dial tone humming in his ear. Huffing out an irritated sigh, Reid stood up, sweeping his coffee cup into his hand.

Emily glanced over at him. "Reid? Everything okay?"

Ignoring the concern in her voice, Reid spoke shortly. "I have to go downstairs for a moment," he muttered, barely meeting her eyes before turning to the door. "Could you tell Hotch, if he asks for me?"

"Sure." Emily blinked, curious.

"Thank you," Reid called over his shoulder, swiftly walking off before Emily should say anything else.

She watched as the genius swept across the floor, leaving the glass doors swinging behind him.

To her left, Morgan spoke. "What was that all about?"

Emily shook her head. "No idea." She turned to her coworker, a mischievous smile lighting pup her eyes.

"Wanna see how many files we can relocate to his desk?"

* * *

Reid had barely taken his first step out of the elevator before he heard his name called out above the din of people moving around.

"Spence!"

Something slammed into him, and Reid's small _oomph_ of surprise was muffled as his best friend wrapped him tightly into a fiercer hug. Head pressed against Peter's shoulders, for a moment Reid could focus on nothing but the embrace, the feeling of warmth spreading through him. In a way he'd never been able to put into words, it always felt so comfortable, so . . . _right_ to be by his longtime brother; the arms around his back were secure, familiar — loving. And as always, Reid felt safe, safer than he ever had when Peter wasn't by his side.

And so, for just a few seconds, the genius took solace in the contact, savoring the feeling of contentment that Peter always seemed to inspire in him; and soon, he was hugging him back.

The moment stretched on until . . .

Somewhere behind them, there was the unsubtle sound of a throat clearing, and both men immediately slammed back into reality.

Reid's eyes opened, and he swiveled his head around, for the first time taking in the sight of a girl — well, teenager, really — standing just behind Peter, glaring at the two men with one eyebrow raised. Slightly curious, Reid glanced the blonde over, his brilliant mind already filing away details, connecting dots and drawing conclusions.

Though short, the girl was extremely lean; well-toned calves and sinewy legs were emphasized strikingly by the khaki shorts she wore. A low-cut tank-top stopped just above her belt loops, showing a micrometer of tanned skin beneath the gauzy material. In an effort to seem _somewhat_ conservative, the girl had loosely knotted a periwinkle button-down just under her cleavage, with the sleeves rolled up and her hands tucked carelessly into her pants' pockets. Long, thick, honey-blonde locks were French-braided and tossed casually over one shoulder, withal the girl's blunt bangs fell over one piercing green eye.

 _Athletic. Independent. Keen. Observing._

Each new classification clicked through Reid's head as he eyed the girl eyeing him. With a stance clearly on the offensive and fire smoldering behind her eyes, she unnerved Reid more than he wanted to admit, more than he felt was appropriate.

 _Mistrustful._

Pulling back from his friend's embrace, Reid coughed uncomfortably, and clapped Peter lightly on the shoulder. taking a step back, Reid brushed the hair away form his face and stood rocking on his heels.

Peter frowned briefly, confused, but chased the expression away to fact to comment. Instead, a smile lit his face, and his eyes sparkled as he looked his friend over.

"It's good to see you, Spence. You look . . . better."

The awkwardness behind the sentence was palpable — Peter Petrelli simply didn't know how to do subtle.

Neither did Reid. The genius waited just a second too long before forcing a smile and nodding.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly, casting the last threads of the moment away easily. "You look . . . well."

Half of Peter's mouth upturned in his signature smirk.

As it always did, the expression on Peter's face caused Reid's own lips to quirk into a smile, he blinked, once again forgetting exactly when and where they were.

Behind them, the girl who'd yet to be introduced properly was rapidly tapping her foot on the ground, a look mixing impatience and impudence marring what was normally a very pretty face.

 _Controlling._

Reid's nose crinkled. "Ah, Peter?"

"Hmm?"

Widening his eyes slightly and jerking his head towards their company, Reid tried to keep his voice low, for diplomacy's sake. "You brought — someone?"

For just a moment longer, his friend looked confused, eyes squinting slightly as he tried to remember — and then, seeing what Reid was gesturing at, (or _who_ , really) his entire face changed, morphing into an entirely different, if still familiar, loving look.

"Oh!" Peter's eyes alit, and he took a final step back, fully extracting himself from the contact with Reid.

"Spence, I'm so sorry — can't even believe I forgot! — " Peter coughed. blushing. "Spencer, this is Claire. Claire Bennet."

His tone was relaxed, full of affection. As if to further prove his devotion, Peter slung his arm over Claire's shoulder, with an ease that a suggested the gesture had been made many times before.

Claire. Claire, Claire, _Claire . . ._

 _Claire!_

"I remember," Reid stepped forward. "Claire. Your niece from Odessa." He stuck out his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

Claire made no move to acknowledge his greeting. She stood stiffly under Peter's arm, eyeing Reid blearily, managing to communicate in a strictly nonverbal way just how intrusive this was, her intense . . . _dislike._

Reid tried not to shiver; the look she gave him was all too similar to the ones he'd gotten throughout high school and college — that instant disdain, the promise of later clashing.

 _Aggressive._

Seeing his slightly dazed expression, Claire raised an eyebrow. "Funny. Peter's never said a word about you."

Limply, Reid's hand dropped to his side, and he tried not to frown at Claire's unfriendly tone; instead, the genius sought out his friend's eyes, silently asking Peter what was going on.

Peter smiled, but it was pained. "I . . . I haven't had a one-on-one with Claire in . . . quite a while. But I've talked about you tons, Spence." He shrugged. "Claire means I never mentioned that we were going to see you today."

"You never mentioned it to me, either," Reid deadpanned.

"Right," Peter mumbled, posture tensing slightly. His hand dropped from Claire's shoulder, and he fluidly closed the space between himself and Reid. "Listen," he said, voice lowered to the point that only the genius could hear him, "I — I need a favor."

Reid hesitated before leaning in closer. "Go on."

Peter glanced over his shoulder. "It's . . . it's Claire. I — I need you to keep an eye on her."

"What?"  
"Today. I . . . I can't be with her for a bit, I have to . . . do something. Something private. I need you to watch her." Peter's voice was hushed, urgent.

Reid began to shake his head. "Pete, I'm at work — "

"Well, keep her here with you, then!" Peter strained to keep his voice from carrying, tried not to shout. "She's smart, she'll know how to act like nothing's wrong . . . And where could be safer for her than right here?"

"No, you don't understand —" Reid was cut off again.

"No, _you_ don't understand! I'm your friend, your _brother_ , and I _need your help — "_

"Peter, I don't know her! And we're in the Headquarters of the _FBI —_ secrecy's a bit fo a concern here, we don't just allow people to walk in — "

"I got in easily enough."

It took all of Reid's willpower to ignore the smug tone.

"So I see," he countered. "And I'm sure that none of your . . . genetic capabilities had _anything_ to do with that little stunt."

Peter's nose twitched. "Spence," he said, his voice choking on a mixture of plea and resolve, " _Please._ I need your help."

Startled by the level of seriousness suddenly in his friend's voice, Reid straightened up.

"I — I j-just . . . Claire's with me. I _let_ her come along with me today, into this damn city, where everyone from vice police to her fucking father is looking for her. She's _here_ because of me. She's _in danger_ because of _me._ I have to protect her, Spencer." Peter's tone was desperate, aching, everything about it pulsating with the care he held for his niece.

Still, Reid raised an eyebrow. "Peter . . . you're _you._ I'm _me._ How am I _possibly_ in a position to be of any help at all — better than _you?"_

Peter pursed his lips. "You're a genius, Spence. And strong. And quick and kind and caring . . . You're the only one I trust with her. It has to be you."

Reid opened his mouth to protest further, but before he even started speaking, the genius knew he was relenting.

 _"_ _Why_ can't she stay with you?" he asked, hating how petulant he sounded.

Peter sighed, and lowered his voice. "I . . ." he struggled for a moment, trying to speak. "I . . ."

He swallowed tightly, and shook his head. "She just _can't,_ okay?" Seeing Reid's raised eyebrows prompted the man to continue, somewhat reluctantly, ""I have to go and find my mom, Spence — she's in trouble, and Nathan won't do a damn thing to help her, of course."

His voice was so bitter, almost as much as it had been the last time the two of them had spoken face-to-face. Internally, Reid winced. Cynicism didn't suit this man he called brother — sarcasm and cruel, harsh words had no place in someone so gentle.

The thought did him in completely.

"Are you sure . . . ?" the genius tried weakly, one last time, to get out of it. Not that it mattered. Peter's eyes shone with that strange mixture of gratitude and victory that only he could manage; the man knew Spencer all enough to understand that he had won.

"Thank you, Spence," he hurried out, relief making his voice breathy before he turned back to face Claire again.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours, okay?" He spoke softly, gently, stooping ever-so-slightly so that he was put at eye-level with his niece.

Claire responded by crossing her arms. "I _know_ , Peter," she spat out.

Undeterred, the man continued his patronly instructions, arms snaking up to rest lightly on Claire's shoulders.

"Stay with Spencer — he has a desk upstairs, and there's plenty of stuff to keep you interested, I'm sure — "

"Peter," Claire cut in in, rolling her eyes despite the faint smile on her face, "I'm _fine. Go._ "

Peter sighed, barely audible, his reluctance to leave clear in every inch of his waif posture. Finally, though, he turned away, bravely smiling as he faced Reid.

"Thanks, Spence," he murmured, piercing Reid head-on with that powerful gaze of his. "You've no idea what this mean to me."

Reid, throat dry from nerves, could only nod.

Peter stayed a second longer, just enough to give the genius a one-armed hug.

"I'll be at your place tonight!" he whispered into Reid's ear before swiveling around. With a grace very few people expected from someone so gangly, Peter sped to the door and armed his way through it in one fluid, rapid move.

Reid watched until the silhouette of his friend disappeared completely, shaking his head all the while.

As soon as the raven-haired man could no longer be seen, Reid turned to face Claire, very feature of his face tensed in apprehension of his new charge.

Claire looked Reid over much as he was her, one perfectly waxed eyebrow raised at his stiff posture.

"So," Reid started — and then, having nothing to follow up with, stopped.

He'd never had any luck talking to kids — the Reid effect was completely indiscriminate in that regard.

Claire let the word hang there awkwardly, continuing to stare at him, almost amused by the way Reid was struggling not to fidget, and making no attempt herself to fill the painfully stretching silence.

"I . . . I work right upstairs . . ." he gestured uselessly to the elevator.

Claire squinted at him, gaze chirp and calculating, evaluating. Reid held his breath.

Then, abruptly, the girl turned and marched — not walked, _marched_ — to the elevator doors, covering the distance in a microsecond.

Biting back a sigh, Reid trailed slowly behind, mentally calculating the trim he had left until Peter re-joined them.

Why did he have the feeling that this particular Friday was going to be twice as long as usual?

* * *

 **Author's Endnote:** More of that, soonish . . . Not sure I'll have a regular update schedule on this one, but I'll try for weekly or more, kek?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Before I forget? A HUGE thanks to the many readers, favorite-ers, and followers this story has all gotten in such a short week-ish. And even more gratitudes to the lovely reviewers; I promise, I took your thoughts into mind, and I also realized that I needed to clear a few things up.

No, Claire is not a complete 'bitch' in this story. And for the most part, she wasn't one in the show, either. Guys, the girl is a TEENAGER. And she's had her whole life changed around her in recent years, when this story takes place. Trust is a valuable commodity, and out blonde cheerleader is not generous in the least. To me, it totally makes sense that she'd be a bit snarky upon being thrust into a foreign situation like this. Hell, at 16, I would have too.

No, no one's going to die. This is not going to be a huge, melodramatic _thing_ like "Time" became. It'll be _short_ and melodramatic; heavy angst for another chapter or two, and then the cliche fluff and bonding, right before the end. Only a small vignette into the lives of Spencer and the Petrellis, like I've already said.

Yep, I'm gonna be weird about updates. I honestly had this chapter done earlier, but between encroaching finals and trying to plan a small trip to N'Awlins for my hotel, I totally let it slip my mind. And I know it's unnacceptable, so I'll be more on-time with Chapter #3, swearsies. I'm SO not breaking my perfect record of finishing fics by leaving this one in the dust! We've only just begun.

Lastly . . . Ireally do appreciate every single one of you guys reading and enjoying this story. I try to reply to all of you, but just so everyone's in the know? RL is stressful as balls these days, and you wonderful people make it easy to forget about that. So, thank you. Sincerely, from the bottom of the place where my heart is supposed to be.

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for Season 1-2 of _Heroes_. Spoilers for Season 1-3 of _Criminal Minds._ Mild language, snotty teenagers . . . fluff, eventually?

 **Disclaimer:** I would own the _shit_ out of Peter Petrelli and Spencer Reid if someone ever offered them to me . . . But that time has not yet come, alas. Same goes for the shows. *Sad face*

Read, if you'd like. Same for reviewing. Honestly, either way, I'm just happy you're here.

* * *

 **XXX Chapter Two XXX**

* * *

If he hadn't been already sure about the precise date, the slowness of the elevator would have confirmed that this was, in fact, a Friday. Though the building was regularly updated, and kept in sleek high standards, the levy system of the Quantico building was aged, and it showed in the constant stops and starts made by the machine in its constant use. While Maintenance came by every Sunday to fix the winches and re-oil the cables, it was always in need of another look-over by Thursday evening.

Which only ever served to make the last business day even _longer_ in retrospect.

Reid tried not to sigh as he jabbed his finger into the "6" button yet again, mental ticking down the seconds that he had been standing here with Claire.

 _Two-hundred seventeen, two-hundred eighteen, two-hundred nineteen._

Beside him, the girl sighed — the first sound she'd made yet, and Reid couldn't help the slight flare of guilt that coiled in his stomach.

Surely, Claire wasn't any more pleased by this situation than he was?

"I'm sure we can find something for you to do upstairs," he tried, voice softer and less authoritative than he would have liked.

She might not be an unsub, but that didn't mean that Reid didn't want her to respect him.

Claire turned her head only slightly, the disdain clear in her eyes as she scanned him from his feet up, before letting out a barely-perceptible scoff and glaring once more at the elevator.

 _Two-hundred twenty-six . . ._

"Something in my desk . . ." Reid continued, lamely. He saw the way that the blonde's shoulders stiffened, could almost _feel_ her shutting down on him.

"Or we have a break room you could play in — "

"I am _not_ a _child_!" Claire suddenly whirled around to fully face Reid, hair whipping dangerously and eyes menacing as she leveled the genius with a gaze as intense as he uncle's.

"I — I n-never said — "

"You didn't have to _say,"_ Claire spat out, positively acidic. Eyes ablaze, she looked less like a cheerleader and every bit like the ferocious fighter Peter claimed lay deep within her. Scraggles of blond hair fell over bright green irises, doing nothing to quell the image, the spitfire radiating from every inch of her stiff posture, crossed arms.

Reid could only stare as she continued, "The _tone_ you speak with, _Doctor_ , is _way_ more than enough. I am _not,"_ she hissed, not deflating, " _some dumb kid."_

"W-well, t-technically if you're under eighteen, the law says — " Reid couldn't help his usual rambling, but was quickly silenced by another glower.

"I don't _need_ a babysitter."

Now Reid frowned. "That's . . . that's not why I'm here. No one's babysitting you, Claire."

She eyed him critically as the metal doors slid shut in front of them. "Sure looks like it to me."

Reid's only response this time was to raise one eyebrow.

Claire made no move, no reaction whatsoever,

The silence drew on. And on. And on.

Internally, Reid cursed. He had had standoffs with serial killers like this — actually, _those_ ones had gone better than this. Both parties matched in stubbornness, refusing to be the first one to break the void — both understanding that whoever gave in would be the loser.

Reid swallowed, refusing to let so much as even a flicker of emotion cross his face. He could do this — he was _trained_ in this. _No way_ was he surrendering to a 17-year-old girl.

Not when this meeting could set the layout of all their future encounters — and Reid was sure that there _would_ be future encounters. He had seen the way that Peter looked at her. There was love in that glance, a love that he only had when he used to speak of his brother, or when he was talking to Reid, even.

He blinked, surprised by the drifting of his thoughts. In front of him, Claire smirked slightly, and Reid tensed, straightening his spine.

He would have his victory. _And_ his dignity, too.

Suddenly, the elevator slammed to a stop.

* * *

Several floors away, in her little lair, Penelope Garcia sat in a spinning chair, smiling as she texted Morgan — not a love interest, him, but some aggressive flirting had never done a girl any harm, right?

Her computer screen was suddenly flashing with the words TECHNICAL REBOOT, and then the entire office went black. It barely startled the blonde — she'd seen this before, whenever a power surge hit the main grid. Everything in the building would be shut down for, like, an hour, and then the system would be up and running as smoothly as normal again.

Big whoop.

She turned her eyes back to her Blackberry, and giggled.

At least the phones still worked.

* * *

In the elevator, with red emergency lights flashing around them and their only mode of transportation suddenly at a complete standstill, it actually _was_ Reid who broke eye-contact first as he lunged over to the wall where the emergency phone was stored, and placed it to his ear.

Greeted only by the sound of a dial tone, the genius cursed inwardly, making little effort to conceal how he slammed the device back onto its cradle.

 _No signal. Electricity's out — but there was no thunderstorm . . ._

It hit him quite quickly. _System rehabilitation — no power for 1.25 hours, usually._

 _Goddamnit._

These little outages of electric power were a periodic — no, _regular_ , really — occurrence within the FBI building that never failed to come at inconvenient times and always irked the general workers. Reid found them specially unnerving, as it meant that the entire building would be plunged into darkness while they waited for the power to reboot himself.

Briefly, his mind flashed to the last time he'd been stuck in an elevator, with Morgan right beside him . . .

He'd give anything for it to be like that now, instead of the sullen blonde who wouldn't even look at him right then.

Still, all of his experience with this stupid thing, at least, left Reid reassured that it _would_ be fixed, and they _would_ be fine.

Eventually.

He settled back against the wall, gearing to rest his aching back for a few minutes. Unable to help himself, he glanced over at his charge.

His eyes widened.

Even thought it had been less than an hour, int he time that Reid had known Claire, he could sense from the very beginning that this was a very dominant, headfast, and _tough_ personality. Not someone easily intimidated, easily stifled. A soldier, in some sort of way.

And yet, in the fading light, all of that impossible strength dissolved suddenly, leaving no trace behind of the impassive girl he had already embraced.

Claire's eyes were huge, blinking rapidly as her entire body pressed into the metal wall behind her — as though it would do anything to hide her visible shaking. Form stiff, everything about the girl seemed locked down, from her tightly closed mouth to her clenched fists by her side.

Reid spoke softly gently. "Claire?"

She jolted, eyes darting over to where he stood, looking right through him — the fear in those green depths suddenly making her seem startlingly young, vulnerable.

Trying to contain his growing alarm, Reid stepped forward — but he didn't reach for her, or make any move into the personal shield exuding off of the girl. He knew from experience that unwanted contact, in a situation like this, could be the worst _possible_ move.

"Claire," he repeated in the same tone he used when speaking to victims, "It's okay. The elevator just got stuck — it happens all the time here. Just a power thing — they'll have it up and running in no time. There's nothing to worry about — everything is okay."

The words were low, said in the soothing pitch that the agent had perfected over the years — and Reid could see it working, watched as Claire relaxed the smallest bit, her shoulders slumping minutely, before her eyes darkened again, full of mistrust.

"I _know,_ " she hissed, her voice laced with a menace that was almost convincing.

Almost.

"I'm fine," she continued, inching her way along the wall, away from the doors — and, consequentially, closer to Reid.

He said, "I was just trying to — "

"I don't _care."_ Now as thoroughly folded into the opposite corner as she could be, Claire seemed to pull some of her previous ardor from the compact metal, drawing strength, gearing up.

Reid bit back a sigh, his patience already tried by the constant mood swings of the girl, the way that her switching back and forth from impressionable to menacing was beginning to scare the Hell out of him. He tried to keep in mind that there was a reason adolescents couldn't be psychologically diagnosed until they were 18 — something he reminded Hotch and Morgan of constantly — and kept reacting to himself that there was an _astoundingly_ little chance that Claire was a sociopath . . .

It didn't help much.

He took in a deep breath, calming his frazzled nerves before speaking again. "I'm not an enemy, Claire — _especially_ not _yours._ "

Teeth gritted as they were, the genius's temper was barely concealed.

There was such silence that, for a moment, Reid wondered if she hadn't heard him, of even if he had spoken the words out loud. He glanced over at Claire.

Her eyes met his, pinning him down with that same overly-intense gaze that Peter shared, a gaze that could melt glass.

"You're right."

Reid glanced up, surprised she's even said a word.

Claire, eyes locked onto him, continued, face never changing from the stoic mask she'd taken on since walking into the elevator.

"You're absolutely right, _Doctor Reid_ ," she continued. "You're not my enemy. You're not my friend. You're not someone I care about. You're . . . you're nothing like that to me. Actually . . . you're _just_ nothing. Nothing at all."

The words were equally as soft-spoken as his head been, but not in the same way; in her tone, Claire revealed no kindness, or sympathetic touch. Her words were tempered, calm and cultured, backed by a snarl and said in a way dripping with such maliciousness that her contempt of Reid could be made no clearer.

She held his stare for a moment longer, inspecting the impact of her soliloquy. After a moment, the girl scoffed slightly and shook her head, turning away and folding her legs up under her chin, encircling her arms around herself protectively.

Reid simply stood there, watching all of this, observing without seeing, trying to pretend that the blanket of numbness he drew around himself completely was a reaction to fear of being stuck in the elevator for much longer, and not to the vicious hurt coursing through him all of a sudden. That how this girl felt about him didn't matter at all, because even though she was Peter's niece, he barely knew her, after all. That nothing was wrong, that he was fine, and that this was all something that he could shrug off in no time, and with ease.

Leaning against the wall and lightly holding his stomach, Spencer Reid did what he did best, and pretended.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** So . . . I've been sick. Like, not the usual 'mind-fucked-up' kind of sick, ya know, mentally? Physically ill, this one. Haven't been able to drink anything other than hot tea for nearly a week, and the thought of food makes me more nauseous. At least there's drugs, though. And, my day off from work gave me some time to sit down and finalize this next chapter.

In other news, I've totally abandoned any hope of having an actual update schedule for writing anymore; with the holidays coming up, we are _insane_ at the hotel, and I've been pulling doubles and triples out the wazoo. And finals are here, as well, so school's been taking up the little bit of my free time that wasn't previously dedicated to work and power-naps. (Not complaining, mind you, because my job feeds my soul . . . but I'm tired. Savvy?)

Anyways . . . a lot of you wonderful people on here were messaging me about how angsty this is . . . Yeah. No reason for that, other than I can't imagine Claire and Reid meeting without some heavy words being exchanged. And I'm mean like that. Besides, I dig drama. Duh.

Totally wrote this while watching _X-Men First Class_ again . . . some of Reid's big speech at the end is parallel to Charles' one to Erik in the mid-movie. I can't help myself, he's so quotable! Especially for Reid . . .

So . . . thanks again for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. I haven't gotten around to responding to the newest ones, but I did get all of the notifications, and it means so, so incredibly much to me. Thank you, you guys, for being there. I needed it right now.

. . . And some Advil, I think. I'm going back to bed, now. Enjoy, and . . . tata!

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for Season 1-2 of _Heroes_. Spoilers for Season 1-3 of _Criminal Minds._ Mild language, snotty teenagers . . . fluff, eventually?

 **Disclaimer:** I would own the _shit_ out of Peter Petrelli and Spencer Reid if someone ever offered them to me . . . But that time has not yet come, alas. Same goes for the shows. *Sad face*

Read, if you'd like. Same for reviewing. Honestly, either way, I'm just happy you're here.

* * *

 **XXX Chapter Three XXX**

* * *

Time always seemed to pass slower when it was quiet.

Silence was something that made a great many people uncomfortable — brought them ill ease, made them shift and squirm . . .

But, proving himself to be once more different in yet another way, Spencer actually enjoyed the quiet; it was peaceful, somber and inverbose, giving him the time to collect himself, his thoughts, organize his mind, and, really and truly and above all else, _think._

And in this particular case especially, the genius welcomed the void. If it meant that he was no longer saying stupid things or having horrid, hurtful words hurled at him by his sullen blonde companion, then empty solitude would not only be appreciable, but preferable.

At least, it would be if it hadn't already stretched into beyond an hour.

Being an aptly patient man — and a profiler by nature — Reid had done an admirable job thus far of concealing his mild (and growing) anxiety over the waiting.

Claire, however, for all her protestations, was still a teenage girl in a new city, under tense and unfamiliar circumstances — and the more time stretched on, the more evident her waning patience and control became. The admirable stoicism with which the girl had earlier held herself was breaking, as she paced from corner to corner of the elevator, hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, and the ragged beginnings of bruises becoming visible along her arms. Her face was pale and tight, jaw clenched.

Everything about the girl screamed _trouble._

Reid studied her movements silently at first, taking in everything from the uneven breathing to the trembling legs and ticking arms, mentally counting down the time until she snapped, and this cold war of silence they were engaged in might come to an end.

Soon enough, Claire would talk. He was sure of it.

* * *

"Could they be moving _any_ slower?"

The blonde's demanding tone was the first actual sound in the enclosed space for more than sixty-eight minutes, and Reid, for all his relief in finally hearing _something_ from his charge, struggled not to jump in his surprise.

At least he tried.

Looking up from his phone, where Garcia had been sending him regular updates on the status of their repair-work, the genius raised an eyebrow.

Claire stood firmly, hands planted on her hips, everything about her stiff posture and glowering face screaming of returned aggression — like she was ready to storm, to rage, to war.

To win.

 _Two can play at that game._

"They're doing their best," Reid said calmly, showing no reaction to Claire's mood as he calmly slid his phone shut and slipped it into his trouser-pocket. He rose, stretching out the kinks in his legs, eyes never leaving the girl's.

"Are you frightened?"

Claire scoffed. "As if. I just want your _friends —"_ she spat out the word as if it tasted bad — "to do their damn jobs. It's been _ages."_

Reid could have corrected the youth's terminology, but chose to let it slide — one had to pick their battles carefully, after all.

Still, he struggled to retain his inner peace. "They'll take care of it. Of _us._ "

A long silence, and then —

"I don't need anyone to _take care of_ me."

And suddenly, just like that, Reid had had quite enough. He took a step forward, noting the way Claire immediately tensed at his approach, a glimmer of fear flickering over her face before pride masked it under a well of misguided contempt.

"Enough."

The word was quiet, a barely-audible whisper that rose only an octave above the hum of the emergency lights in the elevator — not notable in the least, and not even particularly angry.

But something in his tone — or maybe his face, his eyes, his shaking hands — seemed to radiate the ire Spencer was feeling inside — because suddenly, Claire was silent, mouth clamping shut and eyes widening a fraction as she shrunk back from him, dumbstruck, chilled.

He took another step forward, barely noting her recoil from his proximity. Guided only by his instincts, his sense of loyalty and love and _right_ , the genius held no sympathy in his gaze.

Another step.

And then they were face to face, inches away from each other, so uncomfortably, unusually close to one another that their breaths mingled in the charred air of the enclosed space.

Forced to look up to meet his gaze, Claire's composure was once more intact, a wealth of dislike and mistrust swimming in her emerald eyes, perfectly combating with the power in Reid's.

They remained like that few a few heartbeats, the tension in the air thickening until it felt ready to smother.

And then Reid spoke.

"I know you, Claire."

She blinked, eyebrows narrowing. "I — "

"I know _all_ about you," Reid continued, as if he hadn't even heard the girl interrupt. "More than you think. I told you earlier. And even if you weren't listening, _I_ wasn't _lying."_

His voice was tight with control, only the faintest quaver giving any hint to his real emotions.

"I know about you, and your ability. Your _healing._ The face that you've been killed three times, and still haven't died. Your 'father,' and all of his secrets — or your _biological_ father, and all of his even worse ones. Your mother, your brother . . . Claire," the genius leaned in, "I know it all. Every. Single. _Last_. _Little. Detail._ All of it, I know. And _you._ "

Claire leaned back, pressing into the wall of the elevator as though that would somehow protect her. Alarm danced in her irises, but whatever compassion remained in Spencer's was hidden by his newfound determination, whipped away the second she started attacking his family and friends. The genius gave absolutely no thought whatsoever to how it would look as he dipped closer still, blind, protective, anger guiding his very move.

"I _know_ you," he uttered, one hand clenching into a fist by his side, "Because I _am_ you."

Her face flickered in confusion.

"Wha — ?"

"We're more alike than you might think, Claire. I know your confusion, your pain. I've been your type of angry — I've _felt_ your agony."

He left the statement hanging in the air, panting slightly with the weight of the confrontation.

Spencer Reid was a very diffident man.

Something Claire, obviously, was not; the second Reid took in a breath, she was right back in _his_ face, her own anger becoming quite clear.

"And what in the _Hell_ makes you think you know a goddamn _thing_ about _me, Doctor?"_

Reid swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing jerkily.

"I know you take pride in your strength, and you think that asking for help is a sign of weakness. I know you'd turn to rage rather than vulnerability — "

" _Stop talking,_ " Claire hissed out, and Reid shook his head slightly.

"Case in point. You're on the offensive before the defensive, and nobody gets to see inside your walls, Claire — not even the people tat you love the most. I get it — I _know._ " Just a hint of kindness seeped into his tone, the drawing ability that made so many relax their guards around Spencer. "I know how overwhelming all of this turmoil is, _must_ be. I know that you think you can protect yourself aptly — and maybe, with your ability, that's true, and you could be just fine up until about now. _Believe_ me, I know," he sighed.

"But I also know that the threats you're facing now aren't something you can just _endure_ , and then brush off," he continued, voice lowering, heavy with seriousness. He gazed into Claire's face, eyes locking with an unfamiliar force, two storms of emotion colliding. "The Company, and S-Sylar, they're not just going to give up if you hide, or play dead, run off and take yourself away from them."

Claire blinked, voice faltering as she asked, "How — h-how do you know about any of that?"

Reid had to bite back a snarl. "Plenty. More than enough, more than I _want_ to." The memories licked at the back of his mind, and Reid squinted his eyes shut for a moment, forcing them back.

"I know," he said through gritted teeth, " _More_ than I ever wanted to about _Sylar_ , and everything he's capable of."

His voice had begun to tremor, and it was nearly a physical struggle to keep his tone calmed.

"And I _saw_ what the Company did to Peter — how they broke him; not completely, maybe, but he's never been the same since. I had to see as they nearly _killed_ the man I call _brother_. I know these — these _people_ , Claire, and I know your situation as well as you do — better, even, maybe. And I am _telling you,_ " he said, voice softening imperceptibly, "that you _cannot_ do this by _yourself._ Sure, you can heal," he rushed on, when it looked like Claire might interrupt. "But these people aren't looking to kill you, Claire. They want to learn about you. _Capture_ you, _study_ you. They want to know everything about you, what makes you . . . tick." Reid swallowed tightly as the word, so full of memories it nearly choked him, slipped out. He shook his head roughly, refusing to let the wash overwhelm him.

 _Focus._

"They want to _get_ you — in every way there is to be gotten. They want to know how strong you are. Why you don't scare. If you're resistant to aging. To _death."_ Reid sighed, an overwhelming sense of awe and helplessness parodying his cool demeanor. "Trust me — I _know_ how these groups work. I've read of them, seen them, met them . . . even worked alongside them. And they're not a joke, not something to be taken lightly." His voice hardened. "They can — and more importantly, they _will_ — destroy you. They have no limits, no morals — nothing that extends farther than the reach of their sponsorship, and their need for discovery and advancement. Nothing to stop them, virtually _nothing_ in their way."

He looked up, eyes shining with dread, and locked onto Claire with terrifying intensity.

"Your body may be remarkable — indestructible, even. But the mind can only take so much."

The genius stepped back, arms falling lamely to his side.

"They _will_ kill you. In every way that they can. Peter . . . he . . . he _loves_ you, Claire. So, _so_ much, More than anyone I've ever seen. And for all the visible ways he's going about it, he's only doing it to keep you safe. I _swear to you_ , Claire — it's all for your protection."

Reid's chest deflated, finally, having said all he had to say on the matter, and he fully withdrew from the intruding space, once more allowing the silence to grow between him and Claire.

There was nothing left he could argue on the matter. His piece was said, a matter of both pride and heart on the line; maybe, sure, he hardly knew this girl — their relationship being younger than the Snickers bar in his satchel — but it didn't stop Reid from needing to get her to _see,_ to _understand._

And now, as it was, eh could only hold himself back and pretend not to watch as he observed the girl, a mere thread of hope clinging to the thought of breaking through to her.

Claire's eyes were cast upon the floor, weaving through the strands of the carpet so intently that she didn't appear to even notice as several errant strands of her blonde locks spilled across her face, covering deep green irises in shadows. Lips pursed and frowning slightly, Claire looked older than her teen years, focus carved into sharp lines that shouldn't already be cutting over her face. An eclectic tumble of expressions flickered over her face too fast to categorize, a haze of distorted thought after thought making her twitch ever so slightly, the hidden valley of feelings and fears barely visible as they flashed by.

Reid watched this, his small hope sinking more and more as the silence between them stretched longer than their conversation had. Worrying his lip, the genius eventually shouldered his gaze from the form in front of him to his own reflection in the silver of the wall across from him. Hazel eyes flickered over the waif form, briefly lingering on his shoes — which managed to quirk a small smile from the man, at least — and slumped shoulders. Off-put by his own tired appearance, Reid quickly cast his gaze to the Emergency Procedures guide in the right-hand corner, instantly latching onto it to read and memorize.

"Peter can't protect me."

He didn't jump at the interruption; truly, he _didn't._ Slowly, calmly, and without any indication of his inner emotions, Reid slid his gaze to Claire, who still wouldn't look up.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Peter," Claire started, hesitant. She peeked through the strands of her hair for just a moment unable to quite stand perfectly still, and her hands drummed a rhythm over her arms. "He can't protect me," she said quietly.

Reid frowned. Had they not _just_ gone over this? "Claire," he said in his gentlest tone, "Peter will protect you. He's not perfect — you need other allies — but Peter would sacrifice himself in an instant if it meant saving someone he loved. He almost _died_ for me — " Reid cut himself off, a lump forming in his throat.

Even _thinking_ about his time with Sylar could reduce the genius to tears.

He saw the look Claire was giving him, and shook it off before she could ask questions.

"You have _nothing_ to worry about. Peter treasures you more than anything, he'd — "

 _"_ _I know,"_ Claire hissed out, now standing up straight, face contorted in resentment as she stared down the older man. "You tell me these things like I'm not already _perfectly aware_ that Peter loves me, that he takes care of me, that he would _die_ for me." Claire's tone was flat, the slight tremor in her voice being the only indication to her feelings.

"I _understand_ that, _Dr. Reid_ , just as well as you do — better, even, since I've seen Peter _die._ " At that, a single tear carved down her cheek, but the girl ignored it, voice only getting stronger as she continued. "So don't you _dare_ assume you know Peter better than me — because you _don't._ You _can't._ "

"Then _why_ would you think that Peter couldn't protect you?" Reid had to know.

"Because he can't protect ANYONE!" Claire screamed the last word, and Reid winced at the volume. Around them, the walls trembled, and the lights flickered on; the elevator was working again.

This barely registered with Reid. The genius stepped closer to Claire, nearly overwhelming her with his height, and looked straight into her eyes, voice low, steely, and commanding — terrifying.

"What. Do. You. Mean?"

Claire looked up at him, breath rapid and uneven, lips quivering as she struggled to remain utterly still before him.

"Peter can't do _shit_ to help me now," she whispered fiercely.

Reid leaned down. "Why _not?"_ he growled out, taking now joy in the wince Claire gave at his tone.

"He's lost his abilities."

The words had only a split second to sink in.

"Wha — ?" Reid started to say, the shock washing over him, before the elevator doors opened behind them, and Morgan's loud voice was suddenly there, loud and intruding.

"So, who's the cutie we saw on-camera, Pretty Boy?"

* * *

 **Author's Endnote:** Damn it, Morgan! Your timing is impeccable. Grrr.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Well . . . I hope everyone's holidays went swimmingly this year? Lots of turkey and pie and time spent with the loved ones? (I certainly can't complain, not when I got the baby bro for five days and plenty of delicious food.)

Oh, but the world must go on. And it's nice to be back on here, with this story again . . . I had an idea for a little oneshot the other day, and it's been giving me the complete runaround trying to get the thing written. Utter madness, I feel like my muse is trying to take the mick out of me for shits and giggles . . . Ugh. But, anyhow, at least this one's nearing a close. Coming up next is a little bit of angst, some sparring and resolution, and then, a segue into the little end piece I've got written — which, incidentally, will be posted in a week or so, since I'm using the next few days soley to focus on finals, and nothing else.

I hope everyone continues to have a lovely time. We'll talk soon!

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for Season 1-2 of _Heroes_. Spoilers for Season 1-3 of _Criminal Minds._ Mild language, snotty teenagers . . . fluff, eventually?

 **Disclaimer:** I would own the _shit_ out of Peter Petrelli and Spencer Reid if someone ever offered them to me . . . But that time has not yet come, alas. Same goes for the shows. *Sad face*

Read, if you'd like. Same for reviewing. Honestly, either way, I'm just happy you're here.

* * *

 **XXX Chapter Four XXX**

* * *

Everyone was staring.

Reid hated staring. From anyone. And everyone.

 _Especially_ everyone.

Quick as a breath, he stepped back from Claire, still in shock over what she'd just told him.

 _Peter lost his abilities._

 _What?_

 _WHAT?_

 _HOW?_

She was looking at him, a mixture of victory and sympathy on her face. No doubt in Claire's mind, she had won whatever game they were playing by managing to prove her point with those final, killing words. Smooth as smooth could be, she slid out from behind him, grinning at the three agents waiting outside the elevator in that charming Southern way her mama had taught her.

"Cutie, huh?" She grinned at the taller, dark-skinned man; he could be the only one to have said it, as the other man looked sterner than her father with his arms crossed and lips pursed, and the other person there was a woman. Giving a very obvious glance up and down, she purred, "You're one to talk, honey."

Morgan laughed. "Charming. Real spitfire you got there, Reid." He glanced over to where the genius was still facing the wall, hands clenched into fists, body still. "Reid?"

No movement.

"Reid?"

* * *

 _How?_

His entire brain was short-circuiting, every nerve ending on fire as thousands of thoughts spun through his head, spun in different emotions and memories and languages and all still revolving around the same crucial concept, all of them coming back to that one erred thought.

 _HOW?_

Peter had been his best friend since they were in kindergarten, his brother since they day they'd met, and his — well, his _hero_ since well before Reid had found out about the super-powers. Their bond ran thicker than water, thicker than blood . . .

But not, apparently, as thick as that stupid, _stupid_ man's skull.

Reid gulped, eyes squeezed shut, trying to force back the burning of tears he wouldn't allow himself to shed right then.

Peter . . . had lost his abilities. His . . . superpowers.

 _How could he keep something like that from me? Something so huge?_

 _Again?_

 _He wouldn't_.

The answer seemed so obvious — _too_ obvious. _Of course_ Peter wouldn't lie about something so crucial to Spencer. Not after how it had almost destroyed them the first time. And if there was one singular thing Reid definitely knew about his brother, it was that Peter would _never_ do something that would hurt someone else — especially not if it was someone he loved.

Right. _Right._

 _That_ made sense, at least.

He had little reason to trust this girl he'd only just met, and little reason _not_ to trust the man who had literally risked his life to save him.

Twice.

Reid shook his head. Claire was mistaken. She _had_ to be. Simple as that.

He turned around, wiping his face completely blank of all emotion before meeting his team's gaze.

"Hi, guys. This . . . uh . . . this is my . . ." He gulped, Adam's apple bobbing jerkily as he lamely waved his hands to a finish.

"This is Claire."

* * *

He spent the entire walk back upstairs shrugging off his friends' questions.

 _How do you two know each other?_

 _How long is she staying?_

 _Why is she here and not at your home?_

Better, of course, that he leave these unanswered for the moment, since revealing anything about the girl could bring up unpleasant memories. After all, their case in Odessa had barely been a year ago, and the name _Bennet_ would ring bells that Reid would rather remain silent.

So for the moment, the genius walked ahead of all of them, mere inches in fort of Claire, and made for the BAU.

No sooner had his feet crossed past the frosted glass than Hotch was there, arms folded and lips pressed into his familiar stern glare.

But while Reid braced himself for a lecture, the older agent merely looked him over, his glance flickering for a split second to the crowd behind Reid before locking eyes with the genius.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern barely, but still, evident in his voice.

Slightly taken aback, Reid nodded. "Just the elevator, sir — they're fixing it up again right now."

"Hm." Hotch raised one eyebrow. "Care to explain how you come back with more than you went down with?" He shot a look backwards again, and Reid knew he must be looking at Claire.

 _Right._

"Her name's Claire. She's a . . . distant relative. Her uncle's watching her in the city, but he had . . . someplace else he had to be today, and he didn't want her to be left alone."

Hotch looked unconvinced — suspicious, even. "She's not exactly a child, Reid."

"Age is merely a perspective . . . sir. Legally, she's almost an adult, but Claire . . . well, she really needs someone with her right now." Reid piled on the words, hoping to keep the peace. "I was charged with that task, and if I can't do it here, then I'll do it at my apartment instead."

The corners of his boss's mouth twitched into what might have been a smile — for him.

"Don't let her get in the way of anything."

"As if I'd _want_ to." A blond wave of hair flew between the two of them as Claire stormed past all of the agents flocking around, and sat herself firmly at Reid's desk.

Correction — _on_ his desk.

Reid let out an inaudible sigh, and Hotch gave his shoulder a short pat, murmuring a "Good luck," under his breath as he turned back towards his office.

In much the same way, Reid turned to his own work station, lips pursed into a grimace as he approached Claire once more. She didn't look up as he gingerly folded himself into his own chair.

For a moment, there was silence, Claire swinging her folded legs and making a point to glare off into the distance while Reid tapped his fingertips together, searching for the right words.

"You know," he started, "It's generally considered impolite to listen in on others' conversations."

"It's generally considered impolite to talk about others in one's own conversation."

Reid couldn't help the small smile. "Touche," he conceded, leaning forward. "My apologies. It's not exactly normal practice to bring family to work."

"We are _not family."_ Claire hissed, finally turning around and locking eyes with Reid. For a moment, the two of them stared, her glaring expression matching his calculating one, and then she scoffed, turning away.

"And anyway . . . if it's such an inconvenience for me to be here, I'll just go."

"No," Reid said seriously,r existing the urge to reach out a hand to stop her. "That's not what I was saying at all, Claire. It's no _trouble_ for you to be here. I — It's just . . . different, is all. You should have seen the first time they all met Peter."

Claire's nose wrinkled. "Wasn't he arrested or something?"

Reid nodded. "Yeah. They wanted to question him about Sy — some murders."

"I bet with his powers he could have leveled every one of them," Claire intoned shortly, sounding wistful. Reid frowned.

"Claire . . ." He started, not sure how she would react with the familiarity.

Not well, judging by the look she shot him. But Reid pressed on.

"Back there, you said . . . you said that Peter lost his powers?"

One short nod was all the response he got. Reid struggled not to let his frustration with this tired old game bleed through. "What did you mean?"

"What did it sound like I meant?"

"Peter doesn't have his abilities anymore?"

"And now I see why they call you a genius, _Dr._ Reid." Gracefully, Claire unfolded herself from the edge of the desk, and turned so that she was fully facing Reid, looking him dead in the eyes.

"Peter isn't like he used to be. His powers are gone. Not, like — not _totally_ , I mean. He's still not _normal."_ The word flowed off her tongue with distaste. "But he's not powerful like before. Peter only has one ability now."

Reid deflated, fear and concern fighting for dominance in his chest. "What happened?" he asked softly.

Claire looked at the ground. "He was trying to protect me — well, me and my father and Nathan, that is. There was someone . . . after us. Peter had to play the goddamn fucking hero _again_ , and he went after the guy." Distress had her throat locking up, and Claire didn't even notice when Reid gently laid a hand on her shoulder, so lost in her memories. "And he . . . he goes to confront this guy, and it turns out _he_ has an ability, too. He . . . he sucked out Peter's powers, and left him to die."

Here, she actually sounded afraid, and Reid let shake for just a moment, thinking over his next move.

"Claire," he murmured softly, so as not to startle, "What happened next?"

Against him, he felt a shrug. "Dunno. Peter never told me the rest; he doesn't like to talk about it."

"So . . . What is Peter now?"

Claire gave a short huff of a laugh. "He's like a normal person with abilities, or something. He can still absorb powers, but only one at a time. All he has to do is touch someone with powers, and it's his. But when he touches another person, he trades out powers. He can't control it, else he'd stick with flying or something adrenaline-rushing. You know Peter." Reid nodded, almost smiling. He _did_ know the man.

"Right now, he's got electricity, I think."

"One power . . . " Reid still couldn't believe it.

Just one? This man who had come to him for the first time full to bursting with abilities that Reid could only read about in comic books was now . . . normal? Ish?

 _Why didn't he tell me?_

He hadn't realized he'd mumbled the words aloud until Claire responded.

"Peter's always had this . . . insane _need_ to protect people. You said it yourself — he'd die before letting anyone get hurt."

"I know," Reid mumbled.

Beneath his hands, Claire turned to face him, for the first time meeting his eyes with a look of something softer than anger, something small and hopeful, something . . .

. . . something strong.

"Can you imagine," she whispered, more placidly than she'd ever sounded since they met, "the humiliation, the _defeat_ someone like Peter would feel in thinking that he's not able to protect the people he loves anymore?"

Reid shook his head. "There's no reason for him to feel like that. I never gave him — "

"And are people always so sensible to you? Do they always see logic where there's logic to be found?" Claire shrugged. "No? Strange — I would think that your line of work is just _teeming_ with sense and sensibility, _Doctor."_

Reid bit back a retort.

"Like you keep telling _me,_ " Claire said, wrapping her arms around her waist firmly, "He wants to help others — save them, if he can. I dunno . . . maybe he thought he was keeping you . . . reassured, or something . . . by not telling you the truth. He hates being vulnerable."

"I know," Reid admitted, chewing his inner cheek. "More than anything else . . ."

The last time Peter had let him in, truly in, he had been aided by sleepless nights a a fifth of Jack.

Reid school his head of the memory. _It made no difference, not when —_

"I wouldn't have thought less of him for it."

Claire startled, and then met Reid's eyes, truly met them, looking at him for the first time in something that wasn't laced with disdain.

"I wouldn't have judged him."

Claire blinked. "But that's the greatest fucking irony, isn't it?" She blew out a breath, bangs rustling around her face. "I wouldn't have judged him either." She let out a wry laugh. "I get more angry with him over the things he doesn't tell me than the things he does. Sylar, my bio-dad, my actual 'father' . . . all of the things he's kept from me breed more distrust than him needing help ever could. I mean," she faltered for a second, " . . . we _all_ need some help once in awhile . . . "

Reid's lip twitched, and he debated for a minute before gently squeezing Claire's shoulders and dropping his hands, releasing her from all contact. Surprisingly, instead of stepping back or looking for more room like he would have expected, the girl shivered,a bit at the loss of company, and dropped her gaze.

"I don't know how to help him," she admitted.

"Me neither . . . " Reid started, halting when she jerked at the sound of his voice. He crouched slightly, almost able to meet the girl's eyes. "Maybe if we . . . maybe if we tried talking to him together, we can . . ."

Claire frowned slightly as she bit her lip. "What? What exactly do you propose we try when nothing's made any headway before?"

Reid took his time in replying. "We pose as a united front. He's told me before that of all the people in his life, you and I are the only ones who've never intentionally hurt him, let him down. He tells you things he wouldn't dream of sharing with anyone else. And I've known him since there was anything there to _know._ Together, we can create the kind of bond, the kind of _trust_ , Peter needs most right now." Reid sighed. "He's a great guy, an outstanding _man_ , but he's not Atlas; he _can't_ take the entire world on his shoulders. _We_ can't _let_ him."

Claire blinked. "When you say 'united' . . . "

"I don't mean we have to be _friends_ ," Reid interjected. "Although that would be ideal. But some people don't mesh, and I won't hold that against you if you can provide me the same courtesy." He waited for Claire to nod before continuing. "But maybe if we could just . . . I dunno, get to know each other a little bit, it would be easier to . . ."

" . . . Persuade Peter," Claire finished. "That makes sense, I guess." She grimaced, a barely-noticeable flicker across her face.

Reid studied the expression bemusedly. "You know, contrary to what you seem to have decided, Claire . . . I'm sure I'm not the worst person to ever live."

The blonde startled. "I never said that," she protested, seeming totally unaware as to the irony f her repeating the words that the man before had earlier said himself.

"But you were thinking it."

Claire scoffed. "What, are you some sort of mind-reader?"

"Just a profiler," Reid shrugged. " . . . And I think telepathy is a little overrated, anyway. Mind-reading would be inherently _not_ useful in my field."

Claire frowned. "Do . . . Do you _have_ an ability?"

"Some people have certainly thought so," Reid admitted, tapping his fingers on the desk behind him. "It's called an eidetic memory; plenty of people are labeled with it, or some variation. In fact, within the last two decades, almost 1.0324% of births without complications have shown to develop extraordinarily enhanced cranial-limbic-system development, which is tied to having an increased emory persistency — "

"Right, right, I got it," Claire cut in, waving her hands in the standard 'surrender' signal. "You can remember, like, everything ever, right?"

Reid took a moment to think about his response before thinking. "Not exactly," he finally answered, speaking slowly for him. "I can remember virtually everything I read, and almost everything I hear. But if it's not word-symbiotic, I have a memory no more extraordinary than that of the average human. For example . . . I could repeat every word of this conversation to you verbatim, but I'm not sure I should identify the difference between the paintings of Monet and Pissaro. _That_ would be a photographic memory, which has the antithetical problems of having trouble remembering words and numbers over pictures, which . . ." Suddenly, Reid became very aware of how quite Claire had gotten. He flushed. "Sorry, Morgan says I have a problem with ranting. I just get so excited, and . . . can't . . . can't, ah, _stop._ " When Claire continued to say nothing, his ears turned a deeper shade of red, and the gnus hung his head slightly, embarrassed at his utter ignorance of even the barest of social graces.

A moment or two passed, and then . . .

. . . a giggle.

Reid's head shot up.

Claire was _laughing_ at him?

Clutching her hands over her mouth, the tiny trickles of sound still escaped by her fingers, and the signs of a face contorted by a wide grin were unmistakable.

She _was_ laughing at him.

Reid tried to help the frown rapidly spreading across his face, but he couldn't help it. And, seeing the expression, Claire's laughter increased.

"I-I'm sorry," she gasped out between giggles. "I'm not trying to — I m-mean, I don't mean to be — I j-just — " Cut off by her own mirth, the blonde stopped talking for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

Finally, hands dusting off the lower part of her top and hair put back into place, Claire straightened, meeting Reid's gaze directly. "You just . . . remind me so much of my little brother when you talk like that, all excited. I wasn't trying to be demeaning, or anything. I just . . . It was nice, is all. I'm sorry. Please don't get upset."

Reid shook his head, all self-consciousness abated. "I'm not . . . upset. Actually, it's a familiar reaction — most of my coworkers tease me about being completely inept with people. 'The Reid Effect,' they call it."

Claire actually allowed a smile onto her face. "You're not so bad. And your power is . . . kinda cool, actually. I mean, useless in a fight, but I guess that's why you have the hot guy to protect you." She glanced around Reid, towards where Morgan was sitting at his desk, pretending to read another file while he prepared another crumpled-paper-ball to throw at Emily.

Reid looked over his shoulders, grinning wickedly. "I could tell you some things about that particular 'hot guy' that would turn even _your_ hair white."

Claire shoved his arm. "Betcha not."

Reid glanced at his watch, starting at how much time had passed. "Let's discuss this theory over some lunch," Reid suggested, slinging his cardigan over his arm as he turned to his young charge. "Tell me, do you drink coffee at all? I know a great place nearby."

Claire bit her lip, debating for only a second before saying, "Okay. Lead the way."

As Reid began to walk them towards the doors, Claire mumbled under her breath, "Better not go in the damn elevator, though."

Their laughter could still be heard as the glass panes swung shut behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Annnnnnnd . . . college is _finite_ for the year! I'm one degree closer to finishing college, and so, SO em-effing excited for a break from term papers and running restaurants.

So, I will admit, I felt a bit of a rush to get this chapter out before another day went by, because tomorrow, I'm leaving with my girlfriend to vacation down in N'Awlins for a few days, savor our brief winter hiatus, and I was thinking that when I got back, I might be more in the mood to write another Spencer/Remy story instead . . . Louisiana on my mind, and all that good stuff. This will be where this tale makes it's end. Hafta admit, when I was writing this, I had planned to pan the ending to tie in with another oneshot I have in the works, but . . . I like how this one came out, better. Spencer is protective, Peter more so, and somehow, Claire is always at the middle of it all.

Thank you all so much for your reviews and comments (and SO many questions, too, _silverwrym)._ I love you all, and it meant a great deal to me that you've been so good and vigilant in reading this and nudging me to finish.

Fear nor; something else should be out by New Year's, once I've caught up on all the laundry I ignored over the semester. LOLz. Happy Holidays, my doves!

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for Season 1-2 of _Heroes_. Spoilers for Season 1-3 of _Criminal Minds._ Mild language, snotty teenagers . . . fluff, eventually?

 **Disclaimer:** I would own the _shit_ out of Peter Petrelli and Spencer Reid if someone ever offered them to me . . . But that time has not yet come, alas. Same goes for the shows. *Sad face*

Read, if you'd like. Same for reviewing. Honestly, either way, I'm just happy you're here.

* * *

 **XXX Chapter Five XXX**

* * *

Indigo wisps had begun to perforate the sky outside — and though he would never admit it, Reid hurried to get Claire to his apartment as fast as possible once they left the BAU that evening, not wanting to be outside, at night . . . in the dark . . . alone . . . ish.

Though he technically had a car, and company, Reid had always preferred the few minutes of solitude that his walk to and from work allowed, and tried to take the scenic route whenever possible these days. The weather was nice, work had slowed down somewhat since Rossi joined the team . . . it was peaceful, or some version of it, anyway.

Much as before, a silence settled between the genius and the teen as they walked reservedly next to one another, not a word being spoken to break the fading sounds of the city behind them. They were within sight of Reid's building before Claire broke the quiet.

"Thanks."

Her voice was so soft that at first Reid thought he might have imagined it, craning his neck to meet Claire's eyes.

For a moment, the girl held his gaze, unblinking, and looked back at the ground.

"For t-today, I mean. I'm not really familiar with this area — l-like, at all, I mean, and I really appreciated . . . your time . . . "

Reid tried to cover his smile. "You're really not all that comfortable thanking people, are you?"

"I'm not all that comfortable with people trying to help me," Claire corrected, and then sighed. "Still . . . you _were_ really . . . helpful. And nice, I guess."

"I guess," Reid repeated quietly, looking ahead. They were less than a block away from the place he called home. Turning back to Claire, he was somewhat taken aback to see that the girl was shivering, arms wrapped tightly across her chest and shoulders trembling as another gust of wind bit at them.

"Are you alright?" HIs voice was concerned, kind even, but Claire still clinched her jaw at the question.

"Fine," she ground out shortly.

A moment later, something heavy and soft dropped over her shoulders, and Claire, against her will, jumped. She swiveled around, hands immediately clenching into fists at her side, ready to attack, to defend . . . Only to see Reid standing next to her, arms slightly raised in a pacifying gesture, looking almost as startled as she.

"I'm sorry — I shouldn't have . . ." He cleared his throat. "You just . . . you looked cold."

Posture still tense, Claire glanced at her shoulders, seeing —

 _his jacket._

Wanting simultaneously to laugh and yell at herself for her ridiculousness, Claire lowered her gaze, and tugged the covering more tightly around her. Virginia air certainly had more of a bite to it than her own Odessa.

"You're fine," she mumbled after a minute, refusing to get lost in homesickness. "Sorry I overreacted."

"You didn't." Reid's voice was tentative, but kind. He fell back into step beside her. "I'm sensitive to touch as well. That was very thoughtless of me."

Claire smiled. "I don't think you _can_ be thoughtless."

Reid sighed, rolling his eyes. "You were talking to Morgan again, weren't you?"

"No. Just my own opinion. You're always using your brain, always . . . _on._ Like, even more than a girl. You're always _thinking."_

"Aren't we always?" The question was rueful.

"No," Claire answered honestly. "That's kinda the point. You're odd."

"Wonderful deduction."

"I meant it in a _nice_ way!"

A glimmer of a smile passed over Reid's face at that. "As did I. You're very observant, Claire. Astute. I admire that." After a moment, he hesitantly added, 'I don't suppose you've given much thought to joining the FBI Academy . . . ?"

"Heck no." Claire knew he was probing, and winced when she saw how his shoulders slumped at her answer. "It's nothing personal," she added hastily. "Government stuff never really interested me, is all. Too much like the skeevy stuff my dad does. If I was gonna do stuff like that, I'd wanna be in the front lines, fighting right up there for people. You know . . . feel more like I'm actually _doing_ something. Get to _know_ I'm helping someone, rather than trusting someone else to do it for me."

On the last words, her voice cracked, and Reid came to a halt behind her. They were on the porch of his apartment building, but he hadn't yet used his key to get them in.

Instead, the genius stared at his companion, completely unsure of what to say. Emotions had never come easily to Reid, and neither had women. This gir — _woman —_ in particular he found vexing, unsure of what moves to make as she went from defensive to angry to tacit to joking to flirty to —

Even the thought made him shake his head. Too many feelings inside one person, and he was exactly the wrong one to try and deal with it all.

Still, he tried.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The walls were back up, tugged firmly into place, as though they'd never left at all. "I'm fine."

Reid sighed, and turned to unlock the door. A small, soft hand fell tentatively on his shoulders, as though wary of him lashing out.

"Dr. Reid . . ." Claire swallowed, hesitant. " _Spencer._ Really . . . I'm good." His eyes landed on hers, and she held them firmly, a light in the depths of the emerald green beneath her long lashes. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm as okay as I'm gonna get right now. You're good, I'm good . . . it's fine." One corner of Reid's mouth turned up in that half-smile that was so characteristic of Peter that Claire added, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

* * *

"We're here!" Reid called out over his shoulder as he held the door open for Claire. Though his voice was relatively quiet and unobtrusive, the sound still bounced around the walls of his apartment, and it was only seconds before Peter walked into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and smiling a smile that was really more of a grimace at both of them.

"Productive day?" He asked lightly, eyes searching both of them with that concern that never left, even when he was positively glowing with happiness.

"Good," Reid answered after some thought, and Peter nodded, his eyes sliding over to his blonde companion.

"Yeah, it was fine," Claire shrugged. "Did work, got stuck in an elevator, ate a _spectacularly_ crappy lunch — "

"Next time, _you_ can pay!" Reid said, just as Peter cut in with "Stuck on an elevator?"

Claire smirked as both men turned to face each other. Reid spoke first. "It was the one at the Bureau; it gets faulty sometimes, and today was no exception. We were between floors for a little over an hour, and walked off completely unharmed . . . but hungry. Hence the, ah . . . _lunch._ "

Peter's glower didn't lessen. "You knew the thing was broken?"

Reid frowned. "Barely so. It acts up once in a while, and stops. Maintenance repairs it quickly, and our days continue as normal. At worst, it's an inconvenience."

"It's _broken_ ," Peter ground out, "And you still put yourself and _my niece_ at risk."

"Technically — "

"There isn't a _technicality_ , Spencer!" Peter's voice raised, and Reid fought not to flinch back from the sudden loudness. "You guys are my family; I _care_ about you. And to go and put yourself in danger when I came _specifically to you_ to keep Claire safe — "

"Hold on just a minute!" Reid protested, now getting a little angry himself. "I didn't _know_ the thing was going to get stuck. It was an accident. A risible one, granted, but unintentional nonetheless. I would _never_ put someone in harm's way _deliberately._ If you knew me _at all — "_

"Don't you dare — "

"Will both of you SHUT UP?"

Peter and Reid both jumped at the sudden noise, and turned to the person making it; Claire's arms were crossed tightly, a murderous scowl on her face and aimed at both of them.

" _God!_ You guys argue like an old married couple! Peter," She took a deep breath, and forced a calmer, quieter voice, "I'm _fine._ The elevator ride was annoying, but we're both okay. I'm, like, the _last_ person you'll ever have to worry about injury with. Don't blame Spencer for the stupid thing — it's probably fifty years old, anyway. And Spencer," she turned to him, "My momma always told me not to escalate a fight. Just let him vent next time. Both of you are being idiots; we're all here, everyone's alive, so can we _please_ just chill out and get some sleep?"

Peter and Reid stood for a moment, evaluating the girl; each was, in his won way, marveling at the maturity that the girl had shown them, at the calm demeanor and something like wisdom in her eyes. If they hadn't known that she was still a teenager, neither would have guessed it.

Finally, Peter spoke, and his voice was tight with control. "Claire, we're leaving in the morning for Arizona. I picked up some clothes for the trip, but I had to guess for sizes. They're in Spencer's room; why don't you go take a look at them?"

Claire glowered. "I'm not leaving until you two — "

"Claire," Reid cut in, surprising the hell out of both of them, "Go try on the clothes."

A hint of hurt flashed over the girl's face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. "Whatever," she muttered with a huff, and stomped out of the living room. The door slammed, and both men winced at the sound of it. After the echoes had faded, there was complete silence, and Peter and Reid stood in the quiet, each looking at the other and wishing for a way to break the awkwardness.

Peter looked away first. Staring off at the direction in which his niece had stomped, the man's shoulders slumped. "Maybe I should go check on her . . . "

Reid shook his head. "I doubt that that's be a good idea. She's not going to be open to talking right now — I promise."

"I know," Peter sighed. "I've been on the road for days with her. Think she misses her dad — both of them."

"Probably. Not that she's told me that much about them . . . "

"She does. I'm sure of it."

Reid made a noncommittal "Hmm," and continued examining his fingernails with a decided interest.

"Spence."

The genius looked up slowly, willing his nerves under control. Peter was staring at him with that probe-like intensity, his dark eyes glowing dangerously — but not angrily.

 _Powerful._

"I'm sorry," Peter said, almost too soft to be heard. "I shouldn't have . . . I mean, I was . . . overreacting . . . I guess." He sighed, tugging his hand through dark locks before continuing. "I can't even begin to explain how much you and Claire mean to me. Both of you, Spencer. And — and I've been trying _so hard_ to keep you safe, keep you _alive . . ._ " Peter bit his lower lip, unable to continue, and Reid moved a step closer, brushing his hands against his friend's shoulder, remaining silent. Peter would say what he had to when he was ready. All Spencer could do was offer calm, peace, and time.

As it turned out, it didn't take long.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you guys got hurt."

"Oh, Peter," Reid breathed out, drawing his friend into a soft embrace. Though never one to be comfortable with touch, Peter had been his friend for so long that Reid couldn't imagine life without contact with the man he called brother. And Peter reciprocated in that same way.

So for a moment, both of the men stood, taking comfort in each other's presence, before Reid pulled away, shaking his head.

"You can't stop _life_ from happening, Pete. You can beg and bargain and fight until your dying breath, but everything's eventual. People die, and people get hurt — it's inevitable. And as much as I love you for sacrificing all that you have, for thoughtlessly giving things you shouldn't need to for the sake of others . . . I'm okay. I'm trained, and aware, and smart enough to try to avoid trouble." At that, Peter scoffed good-naturedly, and Reid let out a small chuckle. The genius _always_ _found_ trouble — or, rather, trouble found him. But no matter. Reid looked Peter straight in the eye, and kept his voice steady. "And Claire's more capable than you think, too."

Peter started to protest, and Reid held up a hand, stopping him immediately. "I know that she's impulsive, and presumptuous. She's got a bit of an attitude problem, and she doesn't know how to ask for help . . . She's _young_ , Peter. A teenager who's had to become an adult way too fast. And it shows." Reid took in a deep breath. "But she's quick, and smart. She's got good instincts about people, and a protective side a mile wide. She loves you. We _both_ do. And . . . and it kills her — m-me and her — that you can't . . . that you don't comprehend that."

"I'd _die_ for you!" Peter hissed.

"I know," Reid nodded sadly. "You would, and you almost have, more times than I can ever thank you for. But, Peter . . . there's love lost in a relationship where we can't trust one another."

"I would trust both of you with my life; I _do_ , actually."

Reid tried to ignore the ache that his friend's words twisted in his gut. "Not enough to tell us about you losing you powers," he whispered cooly, his heart breaking just a little bit as he said it.

In his arms, Peter flinched. With some effort, he disentangled himself from the other man, and stepped back, a mixture of shock and hurt fighting for dominance over his expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it, no sound coming out. Dark eyes scanned over the genius, looking for something he couldn't quite identify.

Finally, Peter spoke, his voice hushed, though not at all unemotional.

"H-How — ?" He croaked, voice dying as he shook his head.

Reid watched as Peter took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather his calm and steady himself before continuing.

"Who told you?" The other man asked, squinting his eyes shut, fists clenched tightly by his side.

Reid answered softly. "Claire."

As if he had been expecting it, Peter flinched again, nodding slowly.

"Of course," he growled, almost viciously enough to hide the conflicting look of hurt playing across his face and the crack in his voice.

"Peter — "

"Don't," the man in question cut in, tone low with anger, frustration — fright. "Just _don't,_ Spencer. _No._ "

"I understand why — "

"Understand?" Peter's head shot up, gaze locking directly with the genius' as he let out a derisive laugh. "Of course you don't! How could you _possibly_ — ?" He shook his head again. "You might learn in your profiling classes how to _read_ people, how to _analyze_ and _emphasize_ and play the role of confidant, but that _doesn't_ mean that you _know anything about_ — "

Peter cut himself off again, choking on the words that tasted like acid in his throat. He buried his head in his hands, sinking to the ground slowly on shaking knees, making not a sound.

Reid didn't think — he acted purely on instinct, on the need to comfort a loved one. He dropped to his knees to, crouching in front of Peter, and spoke in the same tone he used he used with victims — soft and steady and kind.

"You don't always have to be so strong for me, Pete."

Fingers twitched, and the man before him shook his head, entire slender body jerking with the motion. Not looking up, he responded, "I'm supposed to _protect_ you, Spencer."

"Friends protect _each other_ ," Reid argued, leaning forward. "We have each other, and hold each other, and keep the other one _safe_."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the genius thought that his words had broken through. Then . . .

"And _how_ ," Peter said in a quivering tone as he finally pulled away from his interlocked hands and looked at Reid, "Am I supposed keep you — or Claire, or _anyone — safe_ when I have no bloody powers? How am I supposed to reciprocate our _friendship_ when I'm _weak_ like this?"

He spat out the last words in utter disgust, and Reid's stomach clenched in guilt. He rushed forward, seizing Peter in his arms and holding the quivering man as tightly to him as he could. When Reid spoke, his voice leaked tremulous with sympathy, anger, and love.

"You," he whispered, "Have been keep ing me safe since long before you ever had any powers — before you even knew what they _were_ , Peter. You keep me grounded, keep me sane . . . you've kept me _alive_ simply by being alive yourself. By keeping me _loved_. That ability — to love and to give and receive and to share and to have — is more powerful than any mind-reading or telekinesis will ever be worth. You have _that_ , and it's the only thing you'll ever need."

Peter shook his head. "I can't — " Reid cut him off, shushing gently.

"It doesn't matter what you _can't_ do," he murmured. "It's only important what you _do_ do with what you have. And Claire and I can _both_ attest to it; Peter, you're one of the best people either of us know. You're compassionate and tireless. You're _good._ You're _strong._ You bear so much, and you do it so selflessly for us . . . Anything you can't carry, _we_ will carry _for_ you. You mean the world, P-Peter," his voice cracked, "And you're _worth_ it."

"You really are."

Both men jumped slightly at the voice, and Reid swiveled around. Claire stood behind them, sweats-clad and in a different sweater, looking at them with shining eyes and a lilt in her voice. She met Reid's gaze, blinking rapidly, and then dropped down beside the two of them, wrapping her arms in the embrace — one around Peter, and one around Spencer.

"You can't keep hiding from us, Peter." She ground out, struggling to keep her voice steady. "It's not weak to need help from people who care about you; it's weak to run away from them." She clutched them both tighter, eyes clenching shut as she continued. " _Strength_ is knowing when to let someone else share the burden. _Strength_ is knowing when to grieve. _Strength_ is _love,_ Peter. And _we_ love _you._ You just . . . you have to _let_ us."

And, right before them, in their caring embrace, Peter crumbled. Tears fell down his cheeks, and still as silently as before, Peter gripped them, his hands so tight that for a moment, Reid was breathless and Claire shocked. Peter was too many things to categorize, sometimes. But being this _open_ was something he _rarely_ did, and even more rarely without the accompaniment of alcohol or exhaustion, at the very least.

Long minutes passed as Peter let everything inside of him flow out, stemming though tears and trembles and shallow, hollowed breathing. Outside, dusk became much later and darker and still the group sat, all finding something like comfort in the arms of one another.

Nearly an hour had passed before anyone spoke again.

Shaking, Peter's muffled voice finally came though. "I'm sorry. I'm so, s-so _sorry._ "

He pulled away from Claire and Spencer, looking them both in the eyes as he swiped his hair back and scrubbed at his cheeks.

"I _know_ I shouldn't have lied . . . t-told you about my powers, but I just . . . I j-just . . ."

Claire put a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's okay."

"We understand," Reid whispered, tone placid. In front of him, Peter shook his head.

"It's _not_ okay, you _shouldn't_ 'understand' . . . I did something stupid, w-wrong . . . "

"You're right, Pete," Reid mollified, shaking his head. "You were . . . an idiot . . . and it hurt _all_ of us in some way. But you know that. And you would never want to hurt Claire or me — and _we_ know _that._ It's not something you would ever intentionally do, and it's not something you'll ever do again."

"Of course not!"

"Then it _is_ okay," Claire interjected, almost smiling. "We all screw up sometimes, Peter. The point is not that it happens, but that it doesn't happen twice. You . . . You have to _trust_ us."

"I do," Peter murmured, biting his lower lip.

"And you _will_ ," Reid said. "It always takes time, but the people you love and who love you are willing to wait. We're here for you, Pete. Right now, and tomorrow, too."

Peter breathed deeply for a moment, concentrating his calm. "Spence?"

"Yeah?" Reid answered tenderly.

" . . . You sound like fucking Dr. Phil."

At first, the genius stared, unable to decide what emotion to respond with — although impatience was winning out thusfar. He was trying to be serious, and yet it seemed that just when he thought he had broken through to his best friend, Peter actually had the gall to _make jokes . . ._ And Reid wondered if he had even been heard at all.

He shook his head, frustrated, and prepared to get up. But, unseen, Peter snaked his hand over to Spencer's, and gave him a small, reassuring squeeze — a quiet admission of understanding and regret, an apology, and a reassurance that though he was joking, he _was_ listening.

And Reid got all of that.

At last he smiled, rolling his eyes and gently shrugging out of the grip, flashing Peter a look of understanding. All was forgiven.

The other man chuckled, nodding his head as he gently wrapped one arm around Claire — who was looking at the duo as if they had both lost their minds, but leaned in to the touch nonetheless.

"Well," Peter said, his voice finally steady as he assessed the room, "Dinner's going to be ready in a little bit." He turned to Reid. "I went grocery-shopping for you, man — like, all you had was coffee and some hummus in the back of the fridge!"

Reid struggled not to roll his eyes again. His health — or lack, thereof, according to Peter — was something that the two had argued about at length since Peter had entered medical school. The man was always proclaiming that Spencer, despite his protestations, didn't eat enough healthy food — or enough, period. No matter how many times the genius insisted that he was never hungry, or had a fast metabolism. It had never been an actual issue between the two of them — more a running joke than anything else.

Reid responded, grinning, "You're staying for awhile, then?"

Peter nodded. "Dinner — and tonight, if you'll have us. But, like I said, we have to go in the morning."

Claire turned to her uncle. "Go where?"

"I told you already."

Claire sighed. "A _state_ is not a location, Peter!"

The man gave a minimal smile. "Coyote Sands. There's . . . something we have to address."

Claire frowned. "Is this about . . . " She glanced at Reid, unsure, and then continued. "Your parents?"

"And _your_ grandparents." Peter nodded. "It's a long story."

"You could explain it over dinner." Both turned to face Reid, who had spoken. "I'm a certified genius; I'm sure I could keep up."

For less than a second, Peter tensed, but one look in Spencer's eyes had his defenses falling. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's talk."

Peter lead the way, the other two following close behind, and the kitchen door fell softly behind them, sealing off the wafting smell of black beans, and leaving only the echoes of conversations that lasted deep into the night to show that anyone had been there at all.


End file.
